


Hushed

by Subject_0mega



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and then it all goes to hell, Other, sorry guys I can never just write something happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subject_0mega/pseuds/Subject_0mega
Summary: Anri and Horace leave their homeland after discovering Anri's condition as an undead, and the two settle down in the Undead Commune. One cold night, the two have an encounter with a less than cordial visitor that changes the path of both of their lives permanently.





	1. One Cold Night

       The two sat around their hearth, neither of them knowing what to say. Anri didn’t let their hand fall from their chest, grasping the fabric above where the Darksign had branded itself into their skin. It was on days like this that they felt so acutely aware of the mark. When they first discovered their condition, they told him, begged him not to come, but when they left he refused to not go with them. The young human and the accursed undead, set out together, not truly knowing what they were going to do.  
       Following rumors of an entire commune of undead, exiled or fleeing their homeland just like them, the two friends found a place for themselves in the settlement. Their new home was ramshackle, near the very fringes of the community, and always felt cold, but they had each other. Horace smiled at them gently as he caught their glance, but Anri looked away in shame. A part of them knew they couldn’t live without him at their side, but another part cursed themself for making him live like this. In a poorly made shack, far away from home, in a strange place. Not only were the conditions bad, but the constant attacks by dark spirits in search of humanity put all the inhabitants on edge.  
       Somewhere below them, they could hear the evangelists that came from the Cathedral of the Deep preaching morbid sermons to anyone who would listen. The two teenagers often worried about the things the women said to the other children. The friends had started to truly bond with their undead peers, who worked in the settlement alongside them. Keeping quiet until the voices slowly passed, the two relaxed once the evangelists were gone.  
       “Are you cold?” Horace asked, reaching for their hand. “Why don’t you let go of your shirt. It’s making you upset again.”  
       They let him take their hand slowly, but Anri knew it wasn’t touching the brand that put them in distress. Pulling them closer, so gently that one might think he saw his friend as breakable, he held them close to him. Hesitantly, they wrapped their arms around him in turn.  
       “I’m sorry,” Anri blurted. Horace immediately turned his head to look down at them.  
       “What for?” Horace asked, worry tracing lines on his face.  
       “Doing this to you,” they answered, their voice cold and distant.  
       “What? I don’t think being in love is too terrible of a feeling,” he joked, gently putting his hand against their face.  
       “It is when the person you love dies and their corpse drags you out of your home and to a place like this.”  
       “Anri,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against theirs. “I chose to be with you. I couldn’t imagine any home besides wherever you are.”  
       Pressing his lips against theirs, Horace slid his hand down to embrace them with both arms. Their friend’s warm body against them, the thought of even the Darksign slipped from their mind as they kissed him back.  
       “Do you want to turn in for bed early,” Anri laughed as they began to cheer up, letting their hand move down his body.  
       “Do you?” Horace gave them a playful nudge.  
       The two laughed together, holding each other close. The young undead was quickly pulled from the thoughts of their lover as the hairs on the back of their neck stood on end. Something was wrong. Almost jumping up, Anri pulled Horace to his feet.  
       “Get your halberd. Now,” they quickly instructed, as they ran for their shortsword. The armor and the sword were the only thing they inherited before they left.  
       “What is it?” Horace asked, halberd already in hand.  
       “Something’s wrong,” the young undead replied as they looked outside through the gaps in their home.  
       With a loud noise, the thin door fell to the floor. Without a word, a knight, clad in armor and shining red stepped into the one room of their abode. Anri’s hands trembled as they raised their hands to protect both Horace and themself. The knight, ignoring Horace, rushed towards the small undead, sending the larger human into action.  
       Tackling the invader, he pinned them to the ground with a gasp from both of them. Attempting to pull the sword from their grasp, he landed a punch on their face to try and loosen their grip. Kicking her large assailant in the stomach, the swordswoman took a slash at him. Barely blocking the blow, Horace thanked the gods for his silver buckler, an heirloom originating in his parent’s country.  
       Jumping to her feet, the knight tried again to reach the smaller undead. Stepping back to avoid a swing, she countered with a slam to their head with her shield. Horace gave a roar as his friend hit the ground, unconscious. Charging with his halberd, he slammed it into the far wall of the structure as the invader deflected the blow. Stabbing him through the arm that he held up to block her, she pushed him to the ground with the hilt of her sword. The malicious knight tucked her shield on her back as she pulled out a small knife.  
       As she got on top of him, Horace tried to get her off, only to be met with the knife running through his other arm. With a scream, he pressed into the floor as red hot agony poured through his shoulders from both sides. Looking down at him in annoyance, the knightess used one hand to squeeze his mouth open.  
       “If you won’t be quiet, I’ll hush you myself,” she whispered. “You’re human, aren’t you? Then I won’t kill you.”  
       As she brought the knife closer, Horace tried as hard as he could to get her off.  
       “If you keep kicking, I’ll stab your legs too,” she warned.  
       Bringing the knife down, she began to cut through the muscles of his tongue. He could feel the blade cut into the roof of his mouth as he struggled, tracing a burning line. His screams were choked back by the blood that poured back into his throat, he remembered a similar sensation when he fell into a lake as a boy. It wasn’t water he was drowning in.  
       After what felt like an eternity, the swordswoman plucked something from in his mouth and got off of him. Gripping his throat, the human found himself unable to scream as he curled up on the floor. He couldn’t feel anything in his mouth beside the blood, and with a jolt, he realized what she took. Looking over, Horace saw the fiend approaching Anri, her true target.  
       Forcing himself up, she didn’t even turn to him. With his halberd held tight in the hand that wasn’t trying to stop the bleeding, he closed the distance quickly. He could feel the tip of his halberd pierce her armor and run its way through her flesh. With a gasp of surprise and pain, she weakly turned her head, only enough to see him. Not removing the spear end until he moved her to where she wouldn’t fall on Anri, he wouldn’t even let her body touch them. Falling to the floor, she returned to her own world in a small cloud of ash.  
       Anri lifted their head slowly, until the blood dripped down in front of them. Darting their head up, they looked up at him with wide eyes.  
       “Horace!” It was the last thing he heard before he could feel himself falling.


	2. Footsteps in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After going out in the snow, Anri finds themself in a terrible predicament.

       Pulling the sheet higher over their friend, Anri let their hand rest over him. No Estus. No bonfires. No rebirth. He was human, and he lay dying for an undead. No, not dying, Anri told themself, they wouldn’t let him die. He barely woke up to do anything, and he was burning up. Anri got whatever medication they could afford, but the two weren’t very rich. It seemed to help, but the young man still wasn’t doing very well.  
       Tossing another piece of wood into the hearth, the young undead peered out through the gaps in their home. There was no sign of anyone out in the snow, which put them on edge. Usually there was at least one sorry soul, hurrying off to get wood or water. Returning back to the hearth, they stirred the pot. Watching the leaves swirl around with every movement of their wrist, they pulled the empty bowl they had set aside closer. Pouring some of the liquid into it, they went to their friend’s side.  
       “Horace?” Anri whispered, getting ready to help him sit up. “This will make you feel better, I promise.”  
       Nodding weakly, he worked with them to haul himself upright. Rubbing his back, they let him stay still for a bit as he groaned from the effort. With a shaky hand, they lifted the bowl to his lips, steadying their hand with his own, he drank what they offered.  
       “How are you feeling?” they asked as they helped him back down. They looked away as they remembered that he couldn’t answer them like that anymore. “Any better than yesterday?”  
       Horace nodded, his eyes already closed.  
       “That’s good,” Anri gently whispered as they pulled the sheets up over him again. “Get some rest, I’m going to go out to get some more for you.”  
       Rising to their feet, the young undead grabbed their cloak. As they opened the door, they turned back to Horace’s sleeping form. Anri looked at him for a moment before they spoke.  
       “I promise, I’ll be back soon.”  
       Stepping out into the snow, the small undead grabbed the axe from next to the door and grasped it tightly in their cold hands. They would get some wood on the way back, and it gave them some sense of security. Something didn’t feel right, they just couldn’t put their finger on it.  
Taking a deep breath and steadying themself, they treaded out. The wind blew hard against them, and with each step they could hear snow crunch beneath their feet. Anri couldn’t see anything in the small stretch from their home to the settlement. Pushing forward, they held their hand above their eyes to protect themself from the snow.  
       Something still didn’t feel right. The way their steps sounded. It was off. All of a sudden, a realization came to them. Stopping suddenly, and a single step continued and echoed out across the snow. Eyes wide, the small undead began backing off slowly. Quick footsteps came towards them, and their heart began to quicken its pace. They could run back to their home they were close by, after all. No, they thought, that would lead the assailant to Horace. In the condition he was in, he would be killed for sure if they did that. The young undead had a plan, they broke out into a sprint towards the main part of the settlement. They would lead their pursuer away from their recovering friend. Anri cursed how the snow impeded every step.  
       Running across the small, stone bridge, they could still hear the footsteps behind them. Their lungs burned, and the noise behind them was only getting louder. Anri could see the steps to the larger portion of the commune some distance ahead. They pushed themself with every piece of their being, but the wind and snow seemed to fight against their efforts. They began to scream for help, but they couldn’t tell if their call was heard or not.  
       Making a final desperate effort to reach the stairs and safety, they could feel their legs giving out on them. They didn’t want to die alone in the snow. The footsteps grew louder, but they couldn’t bear to look behind. Something collided with their head, resulting in a sickening thud. Anri’s vision blurred and they fell to the ground. The cold snow stung their skin, but they couldn’t move.  
       Someone flipped them onto their back, but they couldn’t see who through the haze. The attacker bound their hands together, the small undead could feel the ropes bite into their skin. After making sure they couldn’t get free, whoever assailed them grabbed them by their ankles and started to drag.  
       Before they knew it, they were thrown into a cart with force that knocked the wind out of them and aggravated the wound on their head. The gate slammed shut, and they noticed all the others around them. The other children that worked in the settlement were in similar bindings all around them. They didn’t have time to react as the cart lurched into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated! Have a great day!


	3. Horace Awakens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horace finds himself alone, and goes out to find where Anri went, only to make a startling discover.

       Horace slowly opened his eyes, his head ached and his body felt stiff, but he was glad that he was alive at least. He felt choked, but he was used to the sensation already. Taking a look around the room, panic began to creep up on him. Silence was all that greeted him in the darkened room. The boy remembered Anri saying something to him, and his eyes weren’t open, but he knew the door had opened from the sound. They hadn’t returned yet, but how long had it been? The fire had already died, so it must have been quite some time ago. Sitting up slowly, he realized that it was still dark. With a low moan, he pulled himself to his feet. Something was wrong, and knew he couldn’t live with himself if something happened to them out in the snow, alone at night.  
       Stumbling forward, he reached for his halberd. Horace leaned his weight against it for a moment, to steady himself. Taking several deep breaths, he made his way to the door, each step felt easier than the last. Another deep breath as he let his hand come to rest on the handle to the door, and he pushed it open. The rush of wind stung his face as he looked around, but he couldn’t care. Looking down, desperation took hold as he realized how quickly their footprints were fading. The small indents being washed away by new waves snow. The imprints of a wagon, gone farther along by now, didn’t help preserve their tracks either.  
       Not wanting to waste any more time, he set out. It looked like they were headed for the town. Maybe they went there and couldn’t make it back through the snow? Pressing forward, the blowing snow made it hard to even see what was right in front of him. Squinting, he could see the lights of the settlement up ahead, but something felt wrong. Looking down, he almost jumped back. Two pairs of footprints. Why were there two pairs of footprints? Breaking off into a sprint, he followed the footprints. The strides got longer, the fiend had chased Anri, the realization brought of flood of anger.  
       Horace crossed the bridge, no longer caring how about the cold. How could he have allowed this to happen? Guilt and blame nearly choked him when he say the tracks stop. Signs of a struggle were all around, how the snow was disturbed. Someone was dragged, and Anri’s axe lay abandoned on the ground. Clenching his halberd tight, the young man followed the drag marks, the red in it scared him. He’d find Anri. Maybe they’d fought back? Maybe they had won? No matter how he tried to calm himself, he saw how the axe was clean. If they were hurt, he’d never forgive himself. He’d never who did it.  
       Stopping in his tracks, the imprints stopped where the marks of a wagon began. Horace let his eyes wander down the path the wagon made in the snow. He couldn’t waste any time, the snow was falling quickly, and soon all traces would disappear. Quickly, he followed after, back towards where he had come.  
       Back over the stone bridge, past his home. Horace soon found himself at a back area that, even though it was near his home. He had never come to before. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember anyone coming there before. The wooden doors stood tall above him, slightly opened. It seemed someone, or some people had passed through not to long before. And, judging by how the wagon’s were left tucked away to the side, he knew who. Putting both hands against the cold metal of one of the doors, he pushed it open just enough to let him slip in.  
       Candles lined both sides of the stone walkway, in an almost religious fashion. Stepping forward cautiously, he made his way to the elevator. The wood didn’t look very sturdy, but he stepped on without fear. The contraption creaked as it went down, and the young man hoped no one was around to hear it. After what felt like ages, it reached the bottom and he stepped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, feedback, comments, and kudos are greatly appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated! Have a nice day!


End file.
